


Dogs of War

by makoheadrush



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Character Study, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reno POV, sector 7 platedrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 03:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16233272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makoheadrush/pseuds/makoheadrush
Summary: Reno-centric retelling of the Sector 7 plate drop, and told from Reno's POV; what goes through his head before, during, and after?  How does Reno grapple with the knowledge that he is the one responsible for the wholesale destruction of the very slums he was born in?  Subsequent chapters planned that will touch on possible PTSD for Reno.





	Dogs of War

 

_One one thousand, two one thousand…._

“Just one push of this button, and that’s all folks!”

Reno heard himself, in a voice that sounded disconnected and tinny, odd to his ear, taunting the group that faced him on the shaky platform.   Damn, but they were _persistent_ , this latest incarnation of AVALANCHE.  The Turk was trying to figure out what this spikey haired dude’s deal was; he’d pulled the file on “First Class” Strife, of course, after that brief run-in with him at the church, once he was safely back at HQ. 

Reno knew all of the First Class SOLDIERS – all of the Turks did – and he knew this guy was no SOLDIER, and forget the _first class_ designation Strife had cockily claimed to have had.  But….there was something about him, something _off_.  That hollow, haunted look in his eyes; an emaciated frame, barely any fat present to pad the sinew of too-lean muscle – the kid was practically a walking skeleton, not some Shinra-made, mako-enhanced fighting machine like SOLDIER.  Despite that, Strife still managed to heft a sword almost as tall as he was, and nearly as wide.  Reno knew those glowing eyes meant that the kid had been exposed to mako, and in some extremely heavy doses.  But when, and how?  Shinra regulated mako dosing very tightly, and there had been no official record of one Cloud Strife from Nibelheim having been subjected to the rigors of SOLDIER’s mako protocol.

No _official_ record, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something else out there.

The file on Strife had taken Reno two full days to comb through.  None of it made much sense – large swathes of time unaccounted for, years in fact.  Reno had to push that idle curiosity aside for now; it had nothing to do with the task he’d been assigned that day.  Namely, to blow up the pillar that supported the plate above Sector 7.  Destroy the Sector, and pin the blame on AVALANCHE.

It was all too perfect, Reno had thought.  A neat little plan, prettily tied up with a bow, and the blame wouldn’t be placed on Shinra Inc., for once.   Reno wondered, too, if by targeting AVALANCHE, if that wasn’t a nice little _fuck you_ to Rufus Shinra from his father, for having siphoned funds to an earlier incarnation of the ecoterrorist group.  Tseng and Reno had both told President Shinra that this AVALANCHE, was in name only.  Fuhito and Shears were presumed dead, and Elfe…

Well.  Then there was _Elfe_.  Reunited with her father, secreted away, though nobody was supposed to know that.  Tseng had made them disappear, just because he _could_ , and because it was the right thing to do, because it was Veld.

_Three one thousand, four one thousand…._

_One button.  One push.  Boom. **That’s all folks**._

It was easy, _so_ easy, when he didn’t think about what he was actually _doing.._. 

…or think about all the people down there, hundreds of feet below the plate.  Mothers, fathers, children; slum trash like Reno himself had once been, trying to stay alive and survive amidst piles of scrap and garbage.

Reno gave off airs like he didn’t _care_ , as though the slums meant absolutely nothing to him.  They did mean something, although much of that _something_ was mired in memories he’d tamped down over the years, in a futile effort to forget.  Orphaned and living on his own at far too young an age – a street kid, a _slum rat,_ one who was cleverer and faster than most – those skills, plus his fast-talking had set Reno on the fast-track to becoming a Turk all those years ago. 

_Could’ve been me standing down there about to die, instead of up here_ , Reno mused briefly, not wanting to linger upon that unpleasant thought for too long. He had a job to do, after all – once he got  AVALANCHE out of the way once and for all.

Perhaps that was why it _had_ to be him, why he was the only Turk on the active duty roster who could – or _should_ \- push the button, as though it was some twisted sort of birthright to destroy the very sector from which he’d hailed. The order came verbally from Tseng, but Reno knew that the order itself came from above – straight from President Shinra.  And, the President had specifically requested _Reno,_ informing Tseng that he was needed elsewhere.  Reno idly wondered if his loyalty was being tested.  Tseng knew of Reno’s background, of course; President Shinra, however, cared little of the past lives of any of his Turks. Like Shinra troopers, they were expendable; if a Turk was KIA, there would be another one to take their place, though Reno would be harder to replace than most Turks.

Still, Reno felt there had to be a reason why _he_ had been the one chosen to obliterate his birthplace.  _Maybe Tseng’s the one who’s testing me.  Wouldn’t put it past him,_ Reno mused.  Ever since Reno had been made Second, Tseng was continuing to find ways to keep Reno alert and on his toes.  With Veld’s ‘death’, Tseng was named Director of the Department of Administrative Research, and for good reason. He was calm, cool, and collected; rational.  Reno was rarely any of those things, but he could be cold and calculating, and cruel when he needed to be.

When he _had_ to be. 

Right now, Reno’s mood was running hot to cold and back again, like a temperamental faucet; there was no in-between.  His thoughts flicked back and forth like a wayward chocobo, flashing rapidly from the job at hand, the task he knew he had to do, interspersed with these annoying little flashes of memory from his underplate past, and his Shinra, above-plate present.

_My old stomping grounds, down there.  The shithole where I grew up.  In five seconds it ain’t gonna be nothing but a pile of dust.  Who cares….it’s not like_ **I** _care…_

It was a lie, of course; deep down, Reno _did_ care, whatever scintilla of conscience was left since he’d become a Turk, pinged just then – made him stop for just a split second.  Memories played out in his mind, whip-fast, as though they were being projected out against an old movie screen.  Bag ladies collecting bottles and cans out of the voluminous trash heaps in the slums; his mother, calm and serene amidst the poverty and decay, hope always shining brightly in her light blue eyes.  Reno’s own eyes, a deeper blue than his mother’s, the outer edges of the irises tinged with green-blue mako, quickly hardened, and lips pressed into a thin and angry line.

_The slums shit on me, chewed me up and spat me back out.  I don’t owe them **nothin’**_.  He bitterly thought of his father, hard-working, barely ever home because he was _always_ working.  In later years, after he’d been recruited into the Turks by Tseng, Reno would notice Hojo’s lab rats and mice, running frenetically on wheels, never getting anywhere.

They reminded him of his father, always in search of a bigger piece of the pie, a ticket to topside living above the plate.   It never did happen, either; one day the factory’s work whistle blew, signaling the end of the workday, and a young Reno waited for a father who did not come home that night – nor ever again.   Moments after that last whistle blew, workers lined up to clock out, the factory went up in a fireball.

Years of hard work, grabbing as many hours of overtime as he could – it had all been for nothing.  Reno’s father was gone in an instant, and not long afterward, grief would claim his mother’s life as well.  Reno was certain his mother’s death was caused by a broken heart. Losing both parents at such a young age, leaving Reno and his sister to fend for themselves, hardened the young boy and made him feel bitter – propelling him toward wanting to escape the underplate life of poverty and ruin.

_Everyone down here…like rats in a maze, searching for cheese._    He’d made his way out of that trap, somehow, by a combination of talent and sheer chance – and a little deception and chicanery along the way certainly had helped.  Reno thought again of that evening long ago in the labs, when he was a young, fresh-faced rookie; he had set a few of Hojo’s lab rats and mice free one evening when nobody was looking, then feigned indifferent ignorance when the Professor finally noticed the empty cages.

_We’re all rats down here.  They’re all rats.  Maybe it’s better this way._

Reno blasted each member of AVALANCHE with his mag-rod, encasing each of them in a pyramid, laughing as they gasped, quickly and frantically realizing that their air was running out.  His own ears were ringing soundly from the beating Tifa had given him; not to mention, the clean slice on his forearm from Cloud’s broadsword.  He’d been utterly _shocked_ that the scrawny-looking kid could even lift the damned blade, never mind actually doing any damage with it.  It had torn through Reno’s jacket and dress shirt like they were gossamer.

Everything was going white, black spots were dancing in front of his eyes, he knew he was losing blood and needed evac immediately.  He was expecting Rude any minute now, and as soon as the chopper showed, Reno would push the button and bail. There would be just enough time for him to get off of the platform; as for AVALANCHE, Reno reckoned they were shit out of luck, just like everyone else.  Even if Cloud and his cohorts jumped off the pillar’s platform, they’d be crushed like ants down below.

_Rude!  Where the hell are you when I need you -_

Reno felt and heard the chopper’s presence before he even turned to look; glancing over his shoulder, he saw that it was hovering slightly below the platform, but just above the plate. 

“Here’s my ticket to ride!  Bye, _losers_.”  Reno entered the code to initiate the pillar’s self-destruct system, cheerfully flipping off the struggling members of AVALANCHE as he jumped over the railing, landing softly.  He was surprised to see Tseng at the controls, and he had the strange girl from the church – the _Ancient_ – shoved in the back.  Her eyes glowed strangely, much like they’d done that day in the church when Reno last saw her; but it was different from the mako glow of Cloud’s eyes.

“The hell’s she doing here, boss?”  Reno inquired with a frown. Tseng didn’t reply right away, and merely waved off Reno’s question. 

“Never mind that now, Reno.  Here, you take over – get us out of here.”  Reno nodded, slipping into the pilot’s seat without questioning, raising an eyebrow slightly as Tseng grabbed the Ancient roughly by her arm.

“Come here,”  Tseng spoke brusquely.  “You’ll have a chance to say goodbye to your friends.”  

  “Stop it!”  Aeris snapped angrily, spots of pink dotting her cheeks.  “Let go of me!” Tseng frowned, grabbing her by the arm again, jerking her to her feet. 

“Yo, boss…they’re trying to disarm it,”   Reno observed as he let out the throttle, raising the chopper slowly; now AVALANCHE was in view, Tifa and Cloud hunched over the control panel.   Tseng laughed mirthlessly.

“Well, they’ll fail,”  Tseng replied crisply.   He leaned out the open door, taunting the trio on the platform.  “You’re not authorized to disarm that.  Only Shinra executive personnel can activate or deactivate the Emergency Plate Release System – “

“Shut up, fool!”  Barret growled, aiming his gun-arm at Tseng.  The Turk smirked, jerking Aeris to the forefront. 

“Point that thing somewhere else,” Tseng ordered coldly.  “Wouldn’t want you to injure our special guest.”   Barret’s expression quickly shifted from anger to fear, and Aeris felt his change in mood. 

“Don’t worry about her!”  Aeris shouted, ignoring Tseng’s barked order to _shut up_.  “She’s somewhere safe!”   The crack of Tseng’s hand across her cheek rang out like a shot, shocking her into sudden silence.

“I _told_ you to be quiet,”  Tseng snapped, pulling Aeris back inside the helicopter.  “Reno!  Get us out of here.” 

“You got it, boss,” Reno muttered, jerking the controller up, then over to the right, ascending just as the pillar’s plate release system engaged.  The main support was flanked with small and numerous explosions, lighting up throughout its length like a titanic roman candle.  Then, the plate was free, hurtling to the ground, seemingly slower than it should be dropping.   Reno felt his stomach lurch, certain he could hear the final screams of terrified slum dwellers, moments before being crushed to death by the plate.

Reno tried forcing his gaze elsewhere, anywhere but on the destruction below; though he couldn’t help but watch, out of the corner of his eye as they lifted off.   A deafening rumbling sound followed them, even as they rose into the night sky, heading back toward the Shinra building.  It struck Reno quite suddenly, why the President had ordered the drop to happen during the night; it would be likely that the majority of the citizens would be asleep in their beds, save for the night owls who were bar-hopping in the Sector 7 slums. 

_They probably didn’t know what hit them, right?_   Reno tried to convince himself _.    They wouldn’t have seen it coming.  Not like it matters anyway._

As he eased the helicopter down onto the helipad atop the Shinra Building, Reno felt a hollow, cold feeling in his bones.  It was unsettling, and he didn’t like it – he didn’t like _feeling_ anything at all right now, he wanted to feel nothing. 

“I need a fuckin’ vacation,”  Reno mumbled, to nobody in particular. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write a fic centering around the plate drop and how Reno really deals with the aftermath; it seemed to me very likely that he'd suffer nightmares and PTSD over what he'd done, particularly given the fact that in my own headcanon for Reno, he hails from the Sector 7 slums, and has a complicated sort of relationship with his birthplace, trying to compartmentalize all of that into his buried past, once he becomes a Turk and effectively divorces himself from the life he knew before.
> 
> Title was fully inspired by "The Dogs of War" by Pink Floyd - the lyrics just fit so well with this particular scene in the game.
> 
> __  
> Dogs of war and men of hate  
>  With no cause, we don't discriminate  
> Discovery is to be disowned  
> Our currency is flesh and bone  
> Hell opened up and put on sale  
> Gather 'round and haggle  
> For hard cash, we will lie and deceive  
> Even our masters don't know the web we weave 
> 
> _One world, it's a battleground_  
>  One world, and we will smash it down  
> One world, one world 
> 
> _Invisible transfers, long distance calls,_  
>  Hollow laughter in marble halls  
> Steps have been taken, a silent uproar  
> Has unleashed the dogs of war  
> You can't stop what has begun  
> Signed, sealed, they deliver oblivion  
> We all have a dark side, to say the least  
> And dealing in death is the nature of the beast 
> 
> _One world, it's a battleground_  
>  One world, and we will smash it down  
> One world, one world 
> 
> _The dogs of war don't negotiate_  
>  The dogs of war won't capitulate,  
> They will take and you will give,  
> And you must die so that they may live  
> You can knock at any door,  
> But wherever you go, you know they've been there before  
> Well winners can lose and things can get strained  
> But whatever you change, you know the dogs remain. 
> 
> _One world, it's a battleground_  
>  One world, and we will smash it down  
> One world, one world 


End file.
